always made for a good day, and with a heavy mortgage on a brand-new condo, she could use all the business she could get.
So with those thoughts firmly fixed in her mind, she set off down the hall to find out exactly what she could do for the sexy Clint Hilton.
3
MARGOT ROTH was cute. That was the impression that lingered in Clint’s mind as he stood in her downtown office with her and her partner, Alan. Her round face complemented a wide mouth and big brown eyes. She was shorter than average, Clint doubted she’d hit five-five in three-inch heels, and her figure was curved and fleshy. Definitely girl-next-door with her shoulder-length brown hair and bright, unassuming smile. Nothing like the tall, chiseled beauties he typically gravitated to.
Which was why it puzzled him that he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her.
He followed as she moved toward a short corridor and down the hall, his gaze continually dipping to the bottom half of her hourglass figure. He liked the way it looked wrapped up in those coffee-brown slacks—shapely and touchable, firm but entirely feminine. Her legs were lengthened by high-heeled sandals that had something sparkly on them, like rhinestones or glitter, and her white ruffled blouse topped her off like whipped cream on a hot fudge sundae.
“Have a seat,” he heard her say, and it was only then he realized they’d actually entered her office. He quickly darted his eyes somewhere respectable before she caught him gawking and labeled him a perv. He didn’t typically give every woman the full Hilton once-over, but then again, it wasn’t every woman who flew into his radar like Margot Roth had.
Taking in his surroundings, he was surprised by the antique furniture in her office. The reception area had been ultra contemporary with bright-colored sofas, tall, sleek palms and bold canvas artwork. This room was like stepping into another world. A large mahogany table took the place of her desk. Queen Anne, if he knew his furniture. And she’d played the rest of the room off it with an antique sideboard subbing for a credenza, large, chunky bookcases framing the back wall and a deep burgundy Persian rug defining the space.
It occurred to him that it fit her, rich and textured, comfortable and calm, and the more he saw of Ms. Roth, the more she intrigued him.
She gestured to one of the two cushioned chairs facing her, and he took the one closest, edging it away from the table to give room for his long frame. After she’d gathered a pad and pen, she smiled and asked, “So how can I help you, Mr. Hilton?”
He cleared his throat and tried to recall why he was there—a minute detail that seemed to have slipped his mind in the short moments between his car and her office.
“My mother,” he said. “She’s in need of a companion.” Then he added abruptly, “A male companion.”
She winked. “I’d assumed as much since we don’t breed dogs here.”
His laugh was heartier than it should have been. “I tried that one already. Now I’ve got a bored mother and a dog.”
“So she’s looking for a gentleman now.”
“Well, she’s not exactly looking. I am. I was hoping you could give me some pointers on how I can find her a date…or two.”
She quirked her brow. “I’m not sure I understand, Mr. Hilton. You want to find a companion for your mother, but you’d like to do it yourself?”
He didn’t like the look in her eyes or her skeptical tone. In business, it was always the first sign of a deal going bad.
“Maybe I should start at the beginning.”
He gave her a brief rundown of his parent’s thirty-five year marriage and then skipped to these last six months. That was when his mother seemed to have settled with the idea of life after his father, and that his brother’s assignment in Afghanistan wasn’t a death sentence. She’d gotten past her worries and her mourning and had officially entered the stage of healing called Drive Clint Crazy.
Margot made a number of notes as he spoke, and when he was done, she set the pen down and asked, “Have you suggested your mother get a place of her own?”
“Every time I feel like watching her burst into tears.”
She nodded and considered for a moment. “So she doesn’t feel capable of living on her own, but you feel she’s ready for a relationship.”
“My mother’s capable and ready. She’s just afraid of being left forgotten and alone. It’s unfounded, but unfortunately she’s not giving me the chance to prove otherwise. If I were a psychiatrist, I’d say she feels she’s lost her husband and youngest son. Sticking at my house is her unconscious way of making sure she doesn’t lose me, too. Of course, that’s just a guess. I’m not a psychiatrist.”
“No, but you’d like to be a matchmaker.”
Ouch. He’d walked right into that one.
He studied her for an extra beat and damn, if he didn’t sizzle over her no-nonsense style. He liked sharp women who weren’t intimidated by him. Thanks to his wealth and reputation as one of the area’s premier builders, it wasn’t always easy finding them.
He scanned the room, now curious to know if she was single. There weren’t any family portraits on the antique tabletop, and her ring finger was bare, but that didn’t always mean much.
Had Carmen mentioned anything he’d forgotten?
“What exactly are you hoping to get from me, Mr. Hilton?”
“Clint.”
“Okay, Clint.”
“Well—for a fee, of course—I’d like advice on how I can find a nice man for my mother.”
“I’d be more than happy to meet with your mother.”
“Yeah, well…” He scratched the back of his neck. “I would love for you to meet my mother. The problem is, she’s a little skeptical when it comes to matchmakers.”
“That’s not uncommon. I’m sure if she came to the office and we talked—”
“No, that’s not going to work.”
When she raised a brow, he gave in and told her about Palm Springs and the fight between his mother and Marge. He hadn’t wanted to go there, fearing he’d insult Margot’s profession, but the more he spoke with her, the more he gathered straight talk would get him farther than charm.
“Unfortunately, I think you’re mistaken about what I do here.” She slid a glossy brochure across the table. “I’m a dating counselor. And yes, I do bring couples together, but successful matchmaking isn’t something that can be summed up in a couple tips. Much of what I do is consultative. I know all my clients very well, and while there are a number of indicators that can make two people likely candidates for each other, I ultimately work off instinct. It’s what differentiates my practice from the typical survey-style dating services.”
“I didn’t mean to diminish your profession.”
That pleasant smile returned. “No offense taken. I’m only saying that if you want my help in finding a man
